


Chronicles of a King (Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell)

by mayseriouslyunusual



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 23:43:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8554357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayseriouslyunusual/pseuds/mayseriouslyunusual
Summary: Post-canon fic about Stephen's first visit to England since becoming a king in faerie.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write a fic about Stephen for a long time, and I'm pretty happy with this one! Hope you enjoy!

The king who had once been known as Stephen Black sat on his throne. Well, his subjects called it a throne, but it was hardly that. The king was not a man for gaudy furnishings, and the throne was simply a comfortable wooden chair, its cushion upholstered in a tasteful blue. He rested his chin on his hand and looked over the room, so recently finished in its refurbishment. He felt that he should have been happy, or at least satisfied that the work was done, but instead he felt restless.

It was a fine room, there was no denying that. Polished wood-panelled walls and marble tiles gleamed richly in the candlelight. They were beeswax candles, and they gave a much cleaner flame than the awful tallow the gentleman with the thistledown hair had favoured.

It was not only this room; the entire castle had been refurbished. It had been a major undertaking, requiring all of the king’s attention, and he was puzzled now as to why he was not more pleased.

He sighed and sat back, looking around at a cough from behind him.

“I cannot help but notice that you are looking displeased, your majesty. Is the room not to your satisfaction?” The faerie wore a wig of pinecones, and an expression of genuine concern. They had been amongst the first to welcome the king to his new realm, and was now his primary confidant. A few days after their first meeting the king had asked them whether they were male or female, and had been given no reply other than a bland smile.

“No, it is exactly how I envisioned it,” he said, sighing. “But now it is completed I feel I shall have nothing to occupy my time.”

“What does your majesty wish to do?” the faerie asked.

The king put his head in his hands. “I do not know. Not a ball.”

“You must have no fear on that front; you will discover that the majority of your subjects are also sick of dancing.” They paused, looking thoughtful. “I feel I may have a suggestion, your majesty.”

The king looked up. “I would be most gratified to hear it!”

“Perhaps you have spent too long in the company of us fey. Do you think that some time with your own kind might alleviate your unhappiness?”

The king’s eyes widened in horror. “Are you suggesting that I steal-?”

The faerie laughed. It was a bright, twinkly laugh, like bells, and it grated against the king’s soul. “No, your majesty! I know all too well your aversion to that sort of behaviour. I simply thought that a visit, perhaps to the ladies our former ruler brought you with, might improve your mood no end.”

The king sat in thought for a long moment.  He had no wish to return to England, but the faerie’s suggestion was sound: he did miss human company. He took a deep breath.

“Very well. I thank you for your counsel.”

The faerie inclined their head and left, and the king fell to planning his return to the Christian realm.

 

The next morning the king stood in front of a long mirror. He sighed.

“I must admit that I am nervous,” he said.

“Would you like me to come with you, your majesty?” asked the faerie with the pinecone wig.

“No!” said the king, and then, more calmly: “No, thank you.” He repressed a shudder. The thought of a faerie once again set loose in England, and by his own hand, was reprehensible. He stepped forward and stretched a hand towards the mirror.

“You know the way, your majesty?” asked another faerie, a lady with a gown of spider silk.

“Yes,” the king replied. He let his hand brush the surface of the mirror, and was gone.

 

He emerged from a puddle in a country road and shivered slightly. He was not used to travelling by water; he always expected to come out soaking wet.

A house stood in front of him. It was small and simple, but had a certain elegance that the king approved of. He pushed open the gate and walked up the path through the little garden. It was beautifully laid out: flowers and vegetables sat in neat sections that complimented each other perfectly. There were no roses, he couldn’t help noticing.

He knocked on the door, and stepped back to wait. After a short while it was opened by an elderly servant. His eyes narrowed when he saw the king.

“Shouldn’t you come to the back door?” he said, gruffly.

The king sighed, inwardly. The animosity of Englishmen was showing itself early. Had he been in charge of the house he would never have allowed the staff to show such distaste for a guest.

“This is Lady Pole’s residence?” the king asked.

“Yes. Who should I say is calling?” said the servant, his tone making it clear that he had better things to be doing.

“Tell her it is Stephen Black,” the king replied.

“All right.” The man closed the door in his face, and the king allowed himself an exasperated eye roll.

A long moment passed before the servant opened the door again, his manner completely changed.

“My deepest apologies sir, please come in!” He bowed as the king stepped over the threshold. “The lady is in the sitting room.” He ushered the king through, and Lady Pole leapt up when she saw him.

“Oh, Stephen!” she said, “I did not really believe it until…” she trailed off, a relieved smile playing across her lips. “It is so good to see you!”

“Likewise, Lady Pole,” said the king, smiling.

“I go by Miss Wintertowne now,” she said, “but I think that you have certainly earned the right to call me Emma.” She sat down, and gestured for the king to do the same. She turned to the servant. “Hinton, will you fetch Arabella?”

He inclined his head and shuffled out.

“Arabella?” said the king, “Mrs Strange is here?”

“Yes,” she replied, looking into her lap, “we… we live together now.”

“That is good! After our…” he trailed off.

“Imprisonment?” she suggested.

“Yes. It is good to be with someone you can confide in.” There was a brief, awkward silence, before he continued: “Sir Walter is…?”

“In London,” she said, “we are still married, technically, but we hardly see each other.” She looked across at him and took his hand. “It’s been so long, Stephen! Where have you been?”

“I have been in Lost Hope-” he hesitated, “-Emma. The gentleman is dead, and I am King there now. I have named it Recovered Hope.”

“Stephen, that is excellent! I am sure you are a far better ruler than that… that _beast_.” The last word was filled with venom.

“I hope so,” he said. “I am sorry I did not visit you sooner, but the renovations took many months-”

“Months? Stephen, it’s been three years!”

He sat for a moment, in stunned silence. “I had heard that time passed differently in faerie,” he said, eventually, “but I never thought…”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Emma, “you are here now. Ah, Arabella!”

Mrs Strange sat down next to her. “Forgive my disordered state,” she said, as she took off a pair of muddy gloves and linked hands with Emma, “I have been in the back garden.”

“The garden is your work, madam?” said the king, “I was admiring the front of the house on my way to the door.”

“Thank you!” she said, trying and failing to conceal a girlish grin. “I am glad to see you looking so well!”

It suddenly struck the king that he did indeed look very different to the last time he had seen the ladies. While in faerie he had taken to wearing his hair loose, so that it surrounded his head in a soft cloud. He had also stopped wearing black, and today he wore a blue suit that was far bolder than his old attire had been.

“And I am glad to see you happy, madam,” he said.

“I think we can drop the madam, Stephen,” said Mrs Strange, “please, call me Arabella!”

Hinton entered with a tea tray and set it on the table between them, and Arabella poured three cups.

They talked for a long time over their drinks. The king told the ladies of the changes he had made in Recovered Hope, and they told him of their time in Venice, and how their lives had changed in England. Morning slowly wound its way to afternoon, and still they talked, happy to at last be taking tea together not as ladies and servant but, for the first time, as friends.

 

The king had two more visits to pay before he returned to Recovered Hope. The first was to the blue man, Vinculus. While in faerie the king had heard that the man had been restored to life, but a part of him could not believe this, and he had to see for himself.

He stepped out of the mirror, keeping himself concealed; he had no wish to show himself to a man he had seen hanged.

Relief flooded through him as he saw that Vinculus was indeed alive. He sat perched on the edge of a desk, his shirt open at the front so his chest was bare to the air. He was still covered in blue markings, and the king was surprised to see that they had changed since the last time he had seen them.

The door opened, and the king instinctively backed into the shadows. He reminded himself that this was silly, that he could not be seen, but could not quite make himself step forward again.

He looked at the other man, who was now seating himself at the desk, and recognised him as Norrell’s servant, Childermass. Though the king told himself that it was Norrell who had caused him harm, not his servant, he could not prevent an instant, bristling dislike for the man.

Childermass handed Vinculus a pie that he had brought in with him, and picked up one of the papers spread over the table. The king mustered the courage to get closer, and walked around behind the man to see what he was reading.

The page was covered with symbols that the king recognised from Vinculus’ tattoos. Beside each symbol was a series of words, all of them crossed out except for the last one in the row. The first symbol was a figure-of-eight tilted diagonally, with a line through the centre. Beside it was written:

 ~~ask, expect, want, beckon, summon,~~ call.

Childermass picked up a pen and wrote ‘believe?’ beside the last symbol on the page, then sighed and crossed it out.

“Do you have any idea what that one could be?” he said, leaning back in his chair.

Vinculus shrugged, his mouth too full of pie to make a proper response, and Childermass rolled his eyes.

The king looked up as the door opened again, and was surprised to see that it was Mr Segundus, the madhouse keeper. He walked over to the desk and looked down at what Childermass had been writing.

“I’m not sure that that one means ‘keep’,” he said, point down at the page, “It doesn’t make sense in the context of the phrase.”

“What do you suggest then?” said Childermass, gruffly.

“Perhaps ‘hold’?” Segundus looked thoughtful, and picked up another sheet.

“Don’t be daft! It can’t be that! If it was that it wouldn’t make sense later on.”

The two men fell to arguing, while Vinculus watched amusedly. It occurred to the king that he had spied long enough; he was satisfied that Vinculus was alive and well. He walked back to the mirror and touched the cool surface. There was a snap, and he was whisked away to his final visit.

 

The shop bell jangled as the king pushed open the door. Mrs Brandy was sat at the counter looking down at an account book, pen in hand.

“I’m sorry, we’re closing,” she said. The king coughed, and she looked up. Her eyes widened, and she dropped the pen as her hand flew to her mouth.

“Mr Black…” she whispered.

The king smiled. “Yes,” he said, “it is good to see you, Mrs Brandy.”

“It’s really you?” Her voice was more a breath than words.

The king nodded.

She stepped around the counter and walked towards him, looking into his face.

“I had thought you were dead,” she said, dreamily, “I was devastated.”

“I am sorry to have caused you distress, madam,” said the king, “you may see for yourself that I am very much alive.”

“Yes.” She took a deep breath, and appeared to compose herself. “We had a new chocolate arrive last week. Would you care to try some?”

“That would be most pleasant,” the king replied. She led the way upstairs, and showed him to a chair, but he did not take it.

“May I help you madam?” he said, “I have no need to be waited upon.”

“Thank you Mr Black, yes.”

They prepared the chocolate together, and a short while later they were sat next to each other by the fire, the chocolate pot on a little table nearby. The king sipped his cup. It was excellent chocolate, not too sweet and followed by a hint of spice.

“It is delicious, madam,” he said to Mrs Brandy, who looked on anxiously. “But I must admit that I did not come here to sample your fine produce.”

“Then what purpose did you have in mind?” she asked, as he finished the cup and set it on the table.

“I have come to thank you.”

“Thank me? Whatever for?”

“You have been a beacon of kindness in a country that does not wish me well,” the king said. “You are a wonderful woman, Mrs Brandy.”

“But Mr Black, it was only common decency!”

“Yet it was decency that few other Englishmen afforded me,” he said. “I regret that I was not in a position to appreciate it fully. Had our circumstances been different… had our circumstances been _radically_ different, I feel that things may have gone better between us.” The king stopped, and was silent for a long time. “I have a gift for you, madam,” he said, eventually, “if you will accept it.”

“Well yes, Mr Black, what is it?”

He had thought long and hard for what an appropriate gift would be. As a king, he could offer her anything. Power, gold, fine silks… but they were so cold, so impersonal, so… _gentleman with the thistledown hair_.

He had settled on a gift tailored to Mrs Brandy, a gift that she would appreciate more than anyone else, a gift that, he suspected, would be just as pleasant for him to give as for her to receive.

He leaned forward, and kissed her.

It was, both parties agreed, an excellent kiss: warm and sweet, and made yet more pleasant by the lingering taste of chocolate on their tongues. When at last they could compel themselves to pull away they were both flushed and breathless.

“Oh, Mr Black…” Mrs Brandy breathed. She raised a hand to her lips, as if she could not quite believe what had just happened.

The king coughed and straightened his jacket. “Thank you, madam,” he said, trying and failing to repress a boyish grin.

“Thank _you_ , Mr Black!”

They sat in silence for a moment, but there was no awkwardness in it, simply warm and pleasant companionship.

“Where have you been, these past years?” asked Mrs Brandy.

The king smiled. “You may find it hard to believe, madam, but I am now ruler of a faerie kingdom.”

“No,” she said, softly, “I have no trouble believing that. I always knew you were too good to just be a butler.”

“And you have been well, madam?” he asked.

“Yes! My business has grown further, and I have another shop now.”

“That is excellent news!” The king smiled. “I am happy for you, madam.”

Another comfortable silence descended, and the king found himself becoming sleepy in the heat of the fire. He shook himself, and stood up.

“My apologies, madam,” he said, “I must return now, I feel I have been gone long enough.”

“I understand, Mr Black,” she said, standing up as well, “It has been most pleasant… no, I shall not be restrained. It has been wonderful to see you again!” She took the front of his jacket and kissed him once more. It was shorter and more restrained than the first kiss had been, but equally as enjoyable.

“You are very good at that, madam,” said the king breathlessly, when she pulled away.

“As are you!” She grinned and patted his chest. “Now, away to your kingdom!”

He did not ask her to come with him, and neither did she make the request. The evening had taken care of the unsaid words that hung between them, and had left them both with a perfect satisfaction.

“Goodbye, madam,” said the king, inclining his head.

“Goodbye, Mr Black,” she replied.

The king turned away and went downstairs. The bell jangled again as he went out into the night, and he paused to take one last look at the shop. He smiled, dipped a toe into a puddle, and was gone.

 

The king stepped out of the long mirror in Recovered Hope, where the faerie with the pinecone wig was waiting for him.

“You look well, your majesty,” they said. “I trust your visits were successful?”

“Yes, they were, very successful. It was an excellent idea.” The king sat down on his throne, and the faerie smiled and bowed their way out. The king barely noticed them go. Memories of the kiss were playing in his head, and he felt wonderfully warm and soft. Yes, it had been an excellent day.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it, any feedback is much appreciated!


End file.
